We were both only thirty eight when things became so crystalized that we knew that we had to admit our “grown apart” condition and deal with it. Melissa is one of the smartest and most cultured people that I know and typically direct. I’m more wily than smart and more pedestrian than cultured but I am gregarious and can get along with almost anyone. We both found our callings; Melissa became the director of a prestigious art gallery, and I am the top salesman in the most important product line of a Fortune 1500 company.
I didn’t, and don’t, believe that either of us is interested in a divorce for many reasons. Number 1 is that I truly love her, respect her, and enjoy her personality. She says that she loves me, and I believe her since she is a very poor liar and I would have easily figured out if she was lying. Number 2, we have three very well adjusted kids, two boys and a girl, that we both love to death. Family activities are always fun since either the kids have not yet hit the stage where they are a pain in the ass, or because of their personalities they never will be. Neither Melissa nor I would do anything to ruin their happy childhoods.
When I declined going with Melissa to one cultural event or the other for probably the tenth straight time – she says it’s twenty, I say eight, but the result is the same – and she declined sex for the tenth out of the last eleven approaches that I made – she said fifth out of sixth, I say 15th out of sixteen, but again what difference does it make – one Thursday night she said “Brad we have to have a pow-wow about our diverse interests. Except for the kids it appears that we’re not on just on different paths in life, but headed to different planets.”
She was right. Not only did we have the aforementioned dichotomy but she had never seen the inside of a health club nor me a fancy restaurant.
I was a safety on a Division I football team in college, playing statistics six feet one inch, 194 pounds. I have been a workout nut ever since and at thirty eight weighed only three pounds more than in college and had almost comparable muscle tone. I worked out six days a week at a health club or in our home exercise room. Even though Melissa is only slightly overweight, she eschews exercise and I doubt that she ever set foot in our home exercise room, let alone a health club.
On the other hand, Melissa loves fine dining. A French restaurant with nouvelle cuisine is her ideal, and she often lunches at places like that. I, on the other hand, think that Olive Garden is just peachy, although I might go to a steakhouse if she begs.
Given the situation described above, I paused only a second before I replied to her request for a pow-wow, “You’re right. When do we talk, and what preparations do I need to make.”
“Have you ever confided in anyone?”
“Aside from you, not really. Most guys I would not feel comfortable in confiding in.”
“How about female friends – Gina for example?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
That question was a REAL surprise. Gina Jenkins, before we actually had been introduced to her and got to know her about eight years ago, was the stimulus for one of our few big arguments in married life. I can describe Gina in two or three words, depending upon whether you consider something hyphenated one word or two: “Walking wet-dream.”
Melissa and I were at a party where I first saw Gina; she was wearing four inch heels and a slinky dress that accented her bubble butt and consummate thighs – thighs better than what I had previously considered “perfect.” While not classically beautiful she is more sultry than a tropical breeze and more seductive than a siren’s song. I was apparently transfixed ogling her when Melissa came up to me and in a pissed off tone said “Would you stop making a fool of yourself by staring at that woman’s ass?”
“Uh, what…I’m not-uh-not staring,” I defensively stuttered.
“Then what’s that?” she pointedly asked, not too subtly pointing at my dick trying to pop my zipper into the next county.
“I’m married, not dead,” was my flippant reply.
The ride home was heated, the next week at home icy.
“Yeah; I guess I could talk to Gina since she’s discreet. I wonder if she would talk to me as a friend rather than professionally,” I pensively inquired while stroking my chin. Gina is a marriage counselor by profession, and I’ve heard an unorthodox but highly successful one. Besides seeing her at parties and dinners when she is with her husband Art, I normally see her three days a week at the health club we belong to since our workout times often overlap. She could fuck any guy in the health club that she wanted to, but the only males she is ever even friendly with are me, the owner, and a guy with white hair who was on the U S Olympic swim team before I was born and has the body that I want to have when I’m his age.
Also, since Gina and Art’s daughter is on the same travel soccer team as my daughter, and since her son is on the same recreational basketball team as my oldest son, we see each other at sporting events all the time. I go to all sporting events and field trips for our three kids, Melissa attends all arts functions and academic conferences.
“I’ll likely see Gina at soccer this Saturday and ask her,” I replied. Then I asked Melissa “Are you going to talk to someone?”
“Yes; one reason I suggested Gina is because I want to talk to Art to get a male perspective. He is also discrete and that way we would only be talking to people in the same family,” she replied.
Art, Gina’s husband, is what I consider an unlikely match for her – although they probably think the same thing about Melissa and I. Art is a successful accountant but his passion is theater. He is the volunteer financial director of the Community Theater in our city, one of the most prestigious and visible volunteer jobs in the entire metropolitan area. Like Melissa, Art has never seen the inside of a health club; unlike Melissa he is noticeably overweight.
“That’s a great idea,” I genuinely replied. “How about we ship the kids off to your parents’ house next Friday night, a week from tomorrow, and have a serious discussion then.”
Melissa smiled broadly, snuggled up to me, and gave me a sloppy kiss, a much more positive response than if she had just said “Yes.” “I’ll call Mom tonight,” she chirped, and then gave me another kiss.
I did see Gina Saturday. We stood together during the game, making me the envy of all of the other fathers there. At halftime I asked my question. “Say, Gina; Melissa and I are going to have a serious discussion about some things going on in our life, and I would like to get a woman’s perspective before we do. I know that she intends to talk to Art to get a male perspective. Should I talk to you within the context of your profession, or just as a friend?”
“Are you having marital difficulties?” she inquired with raised eyebrow.
“I think that ‘difficulties’ is too strong a word. There is no consideration of divorce, or anything nuclear. We just need to iron a few things out,” I replied.
“Tell you what; come to my office Tuesday morning right after we work out. I’ll treat it as a professional consultation until I get the jest of things, and then we’ll go from there,” she retorted with a smile.
“Thanks,” I said returning her smile.
The rest of the game we talked only soccer and kids, and took our daughters and two of their friends for ice cream after a well-deserved victory.
Tuesday Gina and I finished our showers after our workout about the same time. “Follow me to my office – I have a shortcut that avoids the freeway,” she jabbered as we got in our cars. I took a quick look at her ass as she swung it into her sports car – no mini-van for that mom except when transporting kids. We arrived at her office a little before eight a. m.
“So give it to me straight, Brad; don’t dance around the bush or sugar coat it. What is bothering you and Melissa,” Gina said as soon as she put on her “serious” glasses, sat behind her mahogany desk, and motioned for me to sit in one of the two plush leather chairs in front of her desk.
“Melissa and I are going to have a talk Friday about how we reconcile ‘growing apart’ over the last few years – sorry to start with a cliché,” I began.
“More accurate than most clichés, Brad. Go on.”
I then proceeded to relate most of the scenario I provided above, in some places with more detail. She asked few questions, and took few notes. After about a half hour, when I was finished relating the situation and was about to ask for her advice she held up her hand in a “Stop” motion.
“OK, Brad, I get the picture. I might have a solution, but not as a marriage counselor. Hold on a minute,” she said as she removed her glasses, turned to her computer, input some information, and printed out two pages.
“This first document is my bill for $100 for our marriage counseling session. You need to pay with a check, hopefully now if you have your checkbook with you,” she said, handing one sheet to me.
“I do have it,” I said, reaching into my sport jacket pocket and pulling it out. As I was signing the check she buzzed her secretary. “Marie, input this check and mark the time received on the invoice,” she said. Marie smiled at me, said “Hi,” and did as instructed.
“Brad, this next document terminates our professional relationship as of the second you sign it,” she continued while she herself was signing the document. “Marie will notarize your signature and precisely note the time.”
I was totally confused, but signed as instructed, and Marie notarized the document after first asking to see my driver’s license to prove my identity.
When Marie left with the two documents and check Gina turned to me and smiled. “Sorry to confuse you, Brad, but I am thinking of something a little unconventional; something that I cannot possibly propose as a marriage counselor, otherwise I’d lose my certification. With your permission – and I have to have it since what you told me was disclosed during my professional consultation – I would like to discuss my proposal with Art before discussing it with you. Is that OK?”
“Fine by me,” I replied. “Are you going to give me a hint?”
“Absolutely not,” she replied with a truly evil grin. “I will be calling or meeting with Melissa too,” she said, her grin getting even more evil, if possible.
We gave each other a platonic hug and I trudged out of her office, more confused than a chameleon in a bag of Skittles.
When I got home that night Melissa had a wry smile. “I understand that you talked to Gina today.”
“Yes, I did. I went to her office.”
“Did she give you any advice?”
“No. It was really weird; I related the situation to her in her professional capacity, she charged me $100, and then made me sign a statement that I was fired as a client and she wouldn’t consult with me professionally again,” I replied with a pensive tone.
“She called me and we’re having lunch tomorrow,” Melissa responded, again with that wry smile. “Plus, I talked to Art today too – we met for lunch at the Metropolitan Club.”
The Metropolitan Club was one of those fuddy-duddy places that I despised but that Art was a member of and where Melissa really enjoyed eating the mediocre food that they served; at least she didn’t have to pay for it as Art’s guest.
“Did he have any advice?” I asked.
“Talk to Gina,” she laughed, “that was his advice.”
“Not a very worthwhile ‘male perspective’ then, was it?” I chortled.
“Actually, it shows that he’s a smart man, involving his street-smart wife,” Melissa replied.
We actually had sex that Tuesday night, and it was definitely in the top 50% of Melissa’s efforts.
Wednesday night Melissa didn’t have much to say about her meeting with Gina. She was so distracted that I assumed all child care duties including making sure that homework was completed, clean clothes were available for the next college day, showers were taken, and that they were in bed on time. All Melissa did was kiss them good night. I’m not complaining – I love taking care of the kids. It was just damn unusual.
Thursday night, Melissa had a bombshell. “Bradley” – I know it’s serious when she calls me “Bradley” instead of “Brad” – “how would you feel about Gina and Art coming over tomorrow night and participating in our talk?”
I was flabbergasted. “Is that wise? What would they contribute? Would they just facilitate the discussion? This is related to Gina’s profession but what could Art contribute especially since he just kicked the can to Gina when you talked to him?” I blurted out in rapid fire.
“Wow; talk about a compound question,” Melissa chuckled. “You’d never get away with that before Judge Judy,” she continued, this time turning her chuckle into a laugh.
I felt a little sheepish, but I thought I had some legitimate questions. “I have concerns about that,” I replied.
“I didn’t mean to imply that your questions aren’t legitimate,” Melissa said, cuddling up to me and putting her hand on the side of my face. “I think that they would facilitate things and if at any point you feel uncomfortable we’ll just ask them to leave – and I’ll tell them that in advance,” she cooed.
“OK,” I smiled, and squeezed her ass just as my youngest son walked into the living room.
“Oh, gross; get a room,” our ten year old giggled.
“Pretty funny, huh?” I laughed, then tickled him until he fell to the ground laughing.
There are some things in life that you can prepare for, and there are some things that you can anticipate even if you can’t prepare for them; and then there are others that rocket out of the sky that don’t just surprise you but leave you speechless and breathless. Friday night was in the latter category.
The Jenkins were due to arrive for dinner about seven. Melissa must have taken off work early because when I got home at 6:15 the kids were already at her parents’ house and homemade clam chowder and lobster risotto were already in preparation. Asparagus was being laid out on a cookie sheet and basted with olive oil with herbs. While these foods were gourmet I didn’t have the same prejudice against them as most gourmet foods – in fact I’d have to say that they are pretty much my favorites.
“Wow – something smells yummy,” were my first words as I approached Melissa and we exchanged pecks. “Anything that I can do to help?”
“Thanks, honey. Could you please set the dining room table with our best china and silverware – and use the chartreuse cloth napkins.”
“Sure, sweetheart; but you’re going to have to help me with ‘chartreuse;’ is that a brand, style, what?” I queried.
“A color, silly,” she giggled, still excitedly smearing olive oil on the asparagus. “Top right drawer of the dinette.”
The Jenkins arrived three minutes early, instead of fashionably late. They seemed as jazzed as Melissa was. “What am I missing?” I asked myself as Art handed me two bottles of my favorite wine – one that I rarely drink because it costs upwards of $40/bottle and I’m normally an $18/bottle or less guy.
We had a lovely meal, chatting about everything except what we were supposed to talk about. Whenever I tried to bring it up either Melissa or Gina would tell me to wait until after dinner.
We all pitched in to clear the table and load the dishwasher and did self-serve strawberry shortcake, another of my favorites. By the time that desert was over we had consumed both of the expensive bottles of wine so I brought out one of my $17 bottles and poured us each a glass. We went to sit in the living room.
Gina sat opposite me on the couch. She had on a short skirt, which highlighted her beyond compare thighs, and – to my dismay – no panties. Melissa sat in an armchair to my right, Art in one to my left.
“Gina and I have had some interesting conversations the last two days,” Melissa hesitantly started out, then took a big gulp of wine, not her normal M. O. “I’ve talked with Art too; I guess you’re the only one out of the loop, Brad.”
“Oh?” I said with raised eyebrows.
“Not that we’ve agreed on anything, obviously,” Gina said, “because we haven’t. We’ve had serious discussions, however, and I don’t even know what Melissa’s or Art’s final take will be on this, let alone yours.”
“You have my attention,” I said in the understatement of the year.
“Well, first off this has to be absolutely private,” Gina continued.
“Absolutely,” Art chimed in. “It can never go past the four of us no matter what the final conclusion is.”
“So true,” Melissa added before taking a second gulp of wine.
“OK; my lips are forever sealed,” I replied.
“Since Gina came up with the bare bones of the idea, let her tell it,” Melissa declared just before her third gulp in as many minutes.
Fortunately, Gina crossed her legs just before she started, otherwise I had no hope of listening while looking at her.
“You may be surprised to hear this,” Gina said, “but Art and I have almost the same situation as you and Melissa – it is so close that it is virtually identical. Art loves the arts – I tease him that he was pre-disposed to that because of his name – and shuns exercise. He’d go to a play, painting exhibit, museum, or opera every night that we didn’t have child care duties, but he’d never even get on an elliptical let alone use one. He’ll watch “Dancing With The Stars,” but will never dance, and he’ll eat at the Metropolitan Club, but never Steak N’ Shake. Sound familiar?” she giggled.
Both Melissa and Art had now finished their glasses so I paused and refilled them; Gina declined any more since she was on a roll.
“I, on the other hand – as you well know – love working out, going to soccer or basketball games, dancing rather than watching TV, and – the excellence of tonight’s meal notwithstanding,” Gina continued with a nod to Melissa and a quick curtsey by my wife, “prefer meat and potatoes and other common fare. I’ll go to either action flicks or romantic comedies, but would rather go to the dentist than sit through an opera.”
She paused for effect. “Yet, I love Art, love our family life, and love our environment.”
I was about to say something when she held up her hand and said “One more thing.” Art and Melissa overtly cast their eyes downwardly and started to blush. “I don’t get enough sex, but I’d never cheat since cheating would end my happy home life.”
I didn’t have a mirror, but I bet that I turned red too.
“So,” Gina continued, the only one of the four of us not blushing, “I have proposed to Art and Melissa a very practical solution. It is so simple and obvious that it has to be practical. Melissa and Art should establish an emotional relationship by together attending anything having to do with the arts, and Brad and I should establish a physical relationship. Brad and I will take on child care duties when Melissa and Art are together, and Melissa and Art will take on child care duties while Brad and I are enjoying each other’s company.”
I had to look like Forest Gump at that point; that is Forest Gump when he was the most perplexed in his life. The next few minutes put me over the top.
“So, Melissa, you’ve had time to think about it. What’s your take,” Gina pointedly asked her.
“I—I—I—well – I think we should try it for three months then re-evaluate; that is if everyone else agrees,” she stammered, not making eye contact with anyone else, especially me.
“How about you, Art?” Gina inquired staring at him.
“I see potential problems, but I also know that we each really love our spouses and ‘growing apart’ can be serious – very serious. I think that, as responsible adults, that this could be the key to ensuring that all of our relationships remain strong. I think that we all agree that divorces would be catastrophic, and – I promised myself that I wouldn’t use statistics, but I can’t help myself,” he moaned. “Statistics indicate that more than 70% of couples that ‘grow apart’ do end up in divorce despite true affection for each other.”
“How do you like Melissa’s proposal, then?” Gina asked.
“I go along with it,” Art chimed in.
There was a pregnant pause. “I came up with the idea, and I’m all for it,” Gina said, staring and me and opening up her legs. If I wasn’t so shell-shocked I would have cum in my pants once I got a look at the honey pot between the most sculptured thighs in the history of womanhood.
“This has really – and I mean really – caught me by surprise,” was all that I was able to mumble, though not as articulately as I have related it here. “Let me ask two questions of the group and then talk to each of you individually.”
They all nodded their heads in assent.
“Number one; why was I not given advance notice of this?”
“I’ll handle that one,” Melissa apprehensively said while raising her hand like a sixth grader getting the teacher’s attention. “I know that you consider Gina physically desirable – I guess because you have a dick and a pulse,” she laughed, as did Art while Gina just smiled. “I had to think long and hard about it, and if I nixed the idea in my own mind I never wanted you to even know about Gina’s solution. I decided this morning that I likely would go along, so I confirmed our dinner with both Gina and Art at that time, and was assured that neither of them would veto it.”
“Makes sense,” I nodded – because it did.
“Number two, is it realistic to think that you Art and you Melissa will just have an emotional relationship and that you Gina and me only a physical one?”
“A good question, Brad, and maybe we can’t honestly answer that at this time; which is why I think that Melissa’s suggestion of a three month trial period is a good one,” Gina stated without any hesitancy in her voice. Both Art and Melissa enthusiastically nodded.
“OK,” I replied, also nodding. “Now I would like to talk to each of you individually. Melissa first, then Art, then Gina. Melissa come with me to the den and we’ll close the door,” I said, standing and offering her my hand, which she readily glommed onto.
When we got in the den I stared into Melissa’s eyes while holding her hands. “You really are OK with this – there is not some sort of a martyr thing going on?”
“I really am OK with it, honey,” she responded looking me directly in the eye. “I think that it is eminently practical. I love being with you, but my libido is vanishing. It may be physical, may be mental – I don’t know. But as it diminishes I see no reason to make you take cold showers and suffer. Plus the thought of going to all the cultural events I could ever imagine is more thrilling to me than the thought of sex. So yes, I’m really OK with it!”
We talked about fifteen minutes more until I was convinced that she was on board.
Then I led Art into the den. I could hear Melissa and Gina whispering to each other even before the door was closed. I had lots of questions for Art. His responses were basically the same as Melissa’s. What convinced me that he was sincere was his statement, “Look, Brad, let’s be realistic. Despite Gina’s love of me and our family how long do you think that someone as red hot as she is can resist being hit on by every straight guy who isn’t blind, especially when I’m thirty pounds overweight, balding, and have low sex drive. I’d rather it be with you than someone I didn’t know or like.”
“What makes you sure she’d be satisfied with just me?” I asked.
“You’re a great guy but dense; she’s always had the hots for you. You just have to deliver half as good as she thinks that you will and I won’t ever have that worry,” he almost scornfully replied.
Then it was time to talk to Gina. The talking part of that get-together didn’t last long.
“You do know that I’m going to ravage you and fuck you like a three dollar whore, don’t you?” I rhetorically asked while holding her by the shoulders and staring into her intense brown eyes.
“You better,” was her only verbal response. The next five minutes – just to seem like we were actually discussing something – I pushed the front of her body against a wall, squeezed a tit with one hand, and finger-fucked her to orgasm with the other, then licked off my fingers in front of her as she smiled wickedly. “This is gonna be so much fun,” she said as she squeezed my balls, straightened out her dress and hair, and exited the room.
When we got back to the living room I said “I’m in with Melissa’s three month trial period. My only caveat is that none of us ever compares our spouse and companion to each other out loud, EVER.”
They all allowed that that was a good idea, and Gina, Art and Melissa whipped out their calendars and we started planning.
The details were surprisingly easy to work out since we all wanted them to. The very next day Melissa and Art went to an opera matinee and then to some fancy French restaurant for dinner. I took Gina’s son along with my two boys bowling and shooting pool while Gina took her daughter and mine to their soccer game. All of us met for dinner at the Olive Garden.
The looks that Gina gave me when eating – more sucking than eating breadsticks – almost made me cum in my pants at the dinner table. I playfully mouthed “Stop It,” to her several times but she just smiled wickedly and did it again. When I dropped her and her kids off she gave me a quick peck and whispered “I can’t wait! Eat your Wheaties!”
Melissa came back from her “date” glowing. She gushed about the opera and food. I pretended to be interested, and gave her big hugs, and after we put the kids to bed we huddled together watching an old movie on TV.
The plan the next day, Sunday, was for me to pick Gina up for dinner at six, then for us to go dancing after dinner. Gina was already dressed – and dressed to kill – when I got to her house a few minutes early. As soon as she got in the car she exposed her creamy thighs and revealed a hairless, pantiless crotch. “Uh – where do you want to eat?” I mumbled.
“If you want to eat anyplace but at the ‘Y’ you’re not the man that I thought that you were,” she snickered.
“The Four Seasons it is,” I laughed.
Fortunately, the hotel was only a ten minute drive because I had to keep Gina from fishing out my rock hard cock the entire way so that I wouldn’t get in an accident.
We signed in under our real names – we had nothing to hide – and went to our room. “You’ve seen and played with my pussy but you wouldn’t let me see or play with your cock, you bastard,” were her first words as she undid my belt, unzipped me – no easy task with my cock sticking straight out – and pulled down my pants and boxers. “Nice,” she smiled as she got on her knees and held my cock with one hand while she licked it.
After just two minutes, when I was almost ready to blow my wad that quickly, I lifter her up, pulled off her dress, quickly unclipped and disposed of her bra, lifted her up and bounced her on the bed. I quickly removed my shirt, tearing some of the buttons, and stepped out of my pants and dove for her pussy as she giggled on the bed.
Her pussy was almost as phenomenal as her thighs. Her clit was so sensitive that she periodically had to loudly gasp and extricate my cock from her mouth as we engaged in a delicious sixty-nine. Her pussy lips were thin but juicy and nearly as sensitive as her clit. She had two orgasms courtesy of my fingers, lips, and tongue before she moaned “Fuck me – up against the wall!”
I don’t think that I had ever fucked Melissa up against a wall since our first year of marriage. Melissa now weighed 140, which would make it difficult, plus she never really enjoyed it – missionary was her style. Gina weighed 110 and was asking for it! I didn’t make her beg.
I penetrated her deeply in one stroke while she was on her back on the mattress and then stood up, holding her by the ass cheeks, with my dick still buried in her wet cunt. She was moaning and yelling “fuck yeah,” the whole time. When I pushed her against the exterior wall – I didn’t want guests complaining about banging on the hall or intermediate walls – I hammered the shit out of her. She clenched those magnificent thighs around my torso, and squeezed her arms around my neck. As I pummeled her every so often I’d stick a finger in her asshole, or if I stopped for a few seconds would fondle a tit, and then keep banging.
We had a virtual simultaneous Mother of All Orgasms when she squeezed my cock with her pussy muscles and I shot a river of cum into her expectant vagina. She bit my shoulder to keep from screaming while I groaned the lowest pitch groan I’ve ever emitted.
Once I pulled my cock out of her and she moved her legs from engulfing me to my sides I stumbled back onto the bed and we lay next to each other alternately giggling and saying “Holy Shit!”
“This arrangement may work out,” she chuckled.
“I’ll have to fuck you another hundred times to be sure,” I deadpanned, getting me a playful slap on the arm and bite on the nose.
We both were hungry so we ordered a very light room service meal. I put just my pants on to be able to answer the door and massaged her while we waited for the food to arrive. Her ass and thighs were even more delectable than I imagined them; I could have stroked them all day. I covered her up with a sheet while I answered room service, we fed each other while we joked, and as soon as we finished our light meal she said “Time for desert,’ and immediately shoved my half-hard cock into her mouth.
A few minutes later she was on her hands and knees and I was pounding her brains out doggy style. We fucked again sitting on the floor of the ornate shower stall in our bathroom, staring into each other’s souls, not just our eyes.
We left the hotel at 10:40. She lay her head on my lap on the ride home and I stroked her hair as we chatted. We had a passionate kiss at the end of her block before she got out and skipped home; not before she said “My happiness quotient just doubled. I can’t wait until we get used to each other.”
When I got home I tried to low key it. Melissa cooperated and asked only a few innocuous questions. We were both tired -actually I was totally drained – so we went to bed and spooned.
My second night with Gina I had a surprise for her. As I was fucking her doggy I stuck a thin lubed vibrator in her asshole despite her protests and wiggling; I turned in on low, and then just as I ejaculated into her I turned it on high. When Gina snapped out of the comatose state that my activities had driven her into she mumbled “You bastard you can’t ever do that to me again,” and then after a pregnant pause, “if I have to work the next day,” followed by a giggle. She had a similar reaction when the next time we got together we did The Wheelbarrow.
Simply put, the woman is a sex goddess. When together we didn’t have to worry about life’s mundane problems; our only concern was making the other person feel fantastic. She accomplished that in spades, and unless she is the best actress in the world I reciprocated.
Melissa seemed almost as happy as I was; I tried to tone down my excitement when around her, and I think that I was successful. Maybe she was trying to do the same thing.
After the three month “trial” period was over the four of us went out to dinner – somewhere between Olive Garden and Le Meurice. It took all of thirty seconds to confirm that we wanted to continue. “Everyone still on board?” I asked.
“Yes,” “Yep,” and “For sure” were the simultaneous responses.
“Re-evaluate after another year?” I continued.
“Sounds good,” “Let’s do it,” and “Good idea” were the next set of simultaneous replies.
“Any real problems?” I persisted.
“My face hurts from smiling all the time,” Gina pouted, to hearty laughs from all of us.
Of course life is not always that simple. For one, both Gina and I were getting frustrated because we could never spend the night together. For another, Art and Melissa were complaining that their sojourns, even though they thoroughly enjoyed them, were taking too much time away from the kids since they had to go back and forth between our houses and we lived a fair distance apart.
The main problem, however, was that the relationships did not stay stagnant. My relationship with Gina became intensely emotional in addition to physical; we couldn’t help it. We also suspected that Art and Melissa’s relationship had become physical too – although we doubted that they were actually fucking, even though we were sure that they were petting and sucking.
Gina took the bull by the horns eighteen months after we started. In a dinner at the Jenkins house she said what we were all thinking; with a proposed solution.
“Let’s be honest. Our relationships with each other are not casually emotional or casually physical any more. Each of us is in love with two people. I now need more – I suspect that you all want more even if you don’t need it like I do,” she announced. Then she went to a desk drawer and pulled out architectural drawings for a new house.
“We’re all doing well economically. We’ve paid off our mortgages and have most of the money for our kids’ college educations saved up. We build this house, then sell our houses, and move in together. Brad and I sleep together four nights a week as do the two of you, and we sleep with our spouses three nights. We each design the interior details of our half of the houses – the outside looks like a larger version of Melissa’s and Brad’s,” she said as she rolled out the drawings.
The house had two master bedrooms that were back-to-back, with absolute soundproof insulation between them, but also a door. That way the kids would never know who was sleeping with whom. There were separate entrances to the house at the front, and the only common room was an entertainment center at the rear of the first floor that included a pool table, video games, a large screen TV and exercise equipment.
We’ve lived in our specially designed “duplex” for the last year. The kids are none the wiser and think that it’s cool to live togehter, primarily because they get along so well. There is a possible complication for the future that we’re keeping our collective eyes on. My youngest son and Gina’s daughter seem to be too enamored with each other; I can’t blame him because she looks a lot like Gina, but it is a concern nevertheless because they’re only thirteen and twelve.
Gina and I still act like newlyweds. We either fuck or make love at least once every night that we’re together – four times a week – and there is no end in sight. We both love to experiment and our bodies and libidos are completely simpatico. I still fuck Melissa – usually once a week since her libido has increased somewhat since she is truly happy now. I don’t know if Art fucks either Melissa or Gina – I don’t ask and quite honestly don’t care that much, although I really would like it if no one but me ever fucked Gina ever again.
The arrangement works perfectly for now. I don’t know what will happen when all, or even most, of the kids move out. I’m confident that Gina will have another great plan when we reach that scenario.